Fearless
by celebratethevictories
Summary: Having hit rock bottom both emotionally and physically, Ted Schmidt checks into rehab. Soon, he reunites with someone special from his past.


It began with a simple question: _"Do you want to be beautiful?"_ This was the question that brought the weight of darkness crashing down upon Ted's shoulders. He had never been attracted to this world for its excitement, for he wasn't much of partier. He had never been attracted to this world for its euphoria, for he knew all too well the destruction it could bring. What had lured him into the arms of addiction and overridden his better judgement with surprising ease was the possibility, perhaps even the mere idea of feeling beautiful.

Now, on this cold evening in early December, Ted felt as though he had managed to escape one hell only to enter another. He hadn't slept in days and his head was spinning. He lifted a large coffee from the table in front of him, and though he could clearly see the coffee was past its prime, he couldn't find the energy to care and began pouring himself a much needed cup. Ted knew these imposing turquoise walls all too well. He knew that familiar stench of desperation and hopelessness would soon begin to invade his nostrils no matter how hard he tried not to let it. "How did I end up here?" he thought. "I'm such a failure."

To say that Ted Schmidt lacked confidence would reach far beyond understatement. In truth, his mind had always been filled with the cruelest of voices. They were ever-present, always lurking and ready to strike down any bits of self-esteem he had somehow managed to gather. They hurled insults mostly, tossing them back and forth within the inescapable prison of his psyche - _Unlovable. Loser. Ugly. Repulsive. Hideous._ Lately though, these voices had grown louder and increasingly menacing. They had been filling Ted's mind with a strange, inescapable static for weeks. Today was no exception. So naturally, Ted was thankful when the voices living inside him were interrupted, if only for a moment, by the sound of the coffee pot rattling against the edge of his pale green mug. The shaking and the withdrawal had begun.

Somehow, Ted managed to fill the remainder of his mug without spilling. He sighed deeply and shook his head, still very much in disbelief that he, Ted Schmidt, had ended up here - in rehab. He cautiously looked around the room, carefully surveying his surroundings, which although familiar, felt remarkably foreign and unnerving. It quickly became clear, however, that someone had made a half-hearted attempt at turning this unpleasant place into a home. There was a couch covered in hideous, faded floral fabric, a small table that looked as if it had been plucked straight from a Kindergarten classroom, along with some rickety old wooden chairs. There was a television set in the far right corner of the room with the volume turned up much too loud. Of course, no one bothered watching it, and Ted was sure it had been tuned to the same channel for days, maybe even weeks on end. There were even a few mismatched watercolour paintings hanging about the room, likely placed there in a similarly half-hearted attempt to bring some life into the place. But it was all in vain. More than ever, Ted longed for the comforts of _his_ home - the familiarity, the routine, and the predictability which formed the very basis of his existence, until crystal meth invaded and then rapidly destroyed his life.

Ted gazed at the lifeless expressions of those who surrounded him. He kept his face pointed to the ground, lifting his eyes only periodically, doing his best to remain as inconspicuous as possible, which, for Ted, had never been much of a challenge. To his left, he saw a young man sitting on the couch, nervously puffing away at a cigarette as his fingers twitched against the fabric of the armrest. He couldn't have weighed more than ninety pounds, Ted thought. Sitting at the table, there was a much older grey haired man, staring blankly at a giant plate of food that sat that in front of him like an ominous, foreboding presence. At the other end of the table sat another man, his nose buried in a newspaper, as he appeared intent on ignoring everything and everyone around him.

Directly to Ted's right stood the only woman in the room. At first glance, she didn't look too bad, quite normal, in fact. But there was something about her that made Ted incredibly uneasy. She was so hollow; it was as if her soul had fled her body, leaving only the shadow of a person behind. She was just standing there, staring off into the distance at nothing in particular, her arms folded across her chest as she clutched a cup of coffee tightly in her right hand. She chewed on a piece of gum with a rhythmic sort of intensity and desperation. Ted swore he could actually hear the sound of the gum repeatedly smacking against her teeth. The more he looked at her, the more it began to drive him mad.

Standing in this place, Ted was truly lost - as lost as any person ever could be. He had forgotten how to feel, choosing instead to numb himself to any form of human emotion or connection. Somewhere buried deep within, Ted had a huge heart and immense intelligence, but these qualities were in constant conflict with his ever-increasing addiction. After all, rational thought was of little use to any addict. In fact, it was _irrationality_ which seemed to ensure addiction would flourish. So over time, Ted learned to stop thinking, stop feeling, and start using. Night after night, he wallowed in the hazy high that meth never failed to provide, a high which quickly became the only stable, constant thing in his life. No matter how many times he was laughed at, ignored, betrayed, or forgotten, Ted knew he would forever be able to rely on the blissful high meth offered him. It would always be there, no matter what, to melt away all the pain, all the hurt, and all the sorrow, if only temporarily.

In many ways, Ted's lifelong inner anguish had made him the perfect target for addiction's relentless and suffocating hold. Being high was the greatest psychological and emotional freedom Ted had ever known. In an instant, every demon and ever voice that had ever taunted him or caused him self-doubt was gone, eradicated from both his body and his mind. All it took was that one hit, that one second, that single moment in time, and he was hooked. Reality turned from friend to faux, and Ted knew he never wanted to return to the sober, pain-ridden life he had been leading for so long.

Addiction had undoubtedly grabbed hold and it wasn't about to let go without a fight.

Ted's heart was now beating rapidly, as if signalling the beginning of an imminent battle. Panic was certainly not a new experience for Ted, who had always been prone to worry, but this - this was something different. The room seemed to be getting smaller and smaller and terror was setting in. Ted tried desperately to steady himself, firmly planting his feet on the ground, reminding himself to breathe slowly and deeply. But it was no use. There was a growing tightness building in his chest that made him want to scream. His mind filled with those familiar menacing voices and he instantaneously began to perspire. _"What are you doing here? You don't belong here. This is hopeless. You're hopeless. You can't do this. You know you can't." _The words echoed within him, as if on a never-ending loop, slowly ridding him of whatever hope he had left.

He knew there was only one way to make these feelings and these voices stop. It would be so easy, he thought. "I could just walk out the door. No one would ever notice. No one even knows I'm here". He needed air and he needed freedom from the turquoise walls which now seemed to be caving in against his skin – but what he needed most of all, was _meth._ "This really is hopeless" Ted thought. He was sure there was nothing left of him to save. He was sure he had to flee. He was sure he had to get out of this unbearable place. He simply didn't have the strength to stay, or the will to carry on fighting.

The more he panicked, the louder every noise in the room became. Every sound was ear-splitting, as even the faintest whisper turned to a thunderous racket. The voices in his head were louder too, screeching at a fever pitch, as they mercilessly clawed away at Ted's cluttered mind. By now the shaking had worsened. His hands trembled at his sides as his fingers fluttered against the fabric of his baggy denim jeans. Ted's eyes began darting back and forth; looking and praying for some kind of relief from addiction's brutal, unrelenting grip; a grip which had begun to strangle every ounce of life from his broken body.

Just then, like magic, a familiar voice seemed to reach through all the madness and somehow find its way to his ears.

"Ted?"

Suddenly, the room was silent, as was every noise that had cluttered Ted's weary mind. It was a moment of clarity and light in the midst of the darkest fog. Ted knew that sound. He was sure of it. More sure of anything than he'd ever been. This was not a menacing voice determined to torture and toy with his psyche. This voice was real. A human voice. It was _his _voice, the sound of which emerged from the darkness like a saviour that had come to free him from himself.

Ted slowly turned his body toward the soft, kind-hearted tone – a motion that seemed to last forever. Soon though, those blue eyes were staring at him, as if looking directly into his soul. It was _him_. And even though Ted was sure he knew to whom that voice belonged, seeing the face of his former lover for the first time in over two years was a moment nothing could have prepared him for.

"Blake" Ted uttered, the name falling effortlessly from his lips as it had so many times before.

They each stood there, weightless for a moment. It was as if time had actually stopped. The tightness in Ted's chest had lifted, the turquoise walls were no longer closing in, and those hollow faces that surrounded him seemed to disappear. It was just him and Blake. Together. Nothing else mattered.

"I um...saw your name at the front desk. I didn't know if it was the same Ted Schmidt", Blake said, with a palpable hesitancy.

Yet despite the kindness with which his words were spoken, they hit Ted like an avalanche of reality, disrupting the serenity of the moment, which had made everything feel like a wonderful dream. As if trying to avoid the onslaught of reality, Ted quickly averted his gaze far from his former lover's shining blue eyes to the floor beneath his feet. "The same Ted Schmidt" he thought to himself, suddenly remembering all too vividly how awful he must look.

Ted had avoided mirrors for months, ever since he caught an unwanted glimpse of himself after a long, harrowing night at Dr. C's meth-filled apartment. And now, here he was standing in front of Blake, the man he once loved... _still_ loved. He hadn't showered in days, hadn't combed his hair, or changed his clothes, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd brushed his teeth. His normally clean-shaven face was lined with stubble, and his eyes were bloodshot and noticeably puffy from a lack of sleep. Not to mention the weight. In just over three months Ted had lost nearly thirty pounds. His body had transformed from sturdy and robust, to frail and weak in what seemed like the blink of any eye. His green button-down shirt which once hugged his firm figure now loosely draped over his fragile frame. The truth was, he was no longer "the same Ted Schmidt".

But in an effort to shelter Blake from seeing the unintended hurt these words had caused him, Ted simply replied, "In the flesh", followed closely by what may have been the world's most deflated and pain-ridden smile. Blake remained cautious and still in response, causing Ted to question the believability of his forced cheerfulness and contentment. He knew now that it must have appeared pathetically unconvincing, especially to Blake, who had always possessed the ability to see through his cheery facade and straight to his tattered heart.

Unfortunately, Ted's heightened awareness of Blake's keenly intuitive nature only served to enhance his already escalating sense of vulnerability. He turned his head, consciously trying to avoid eye contact with Blake, who hadn't stopped staring at him since he first turned around. Still, Ted was desperate to fill the silence that had been building between them. Nervously, he began searching for something, _anything_, to say. "I um..." Ted uttered, in a timid, barely audible voice.

But just as Ted went to finish his sentence, he sensed something creeping up inside him and he suddenly felt as though he could burst into tears. Something about seeing Blake again had reminded him of his former self. The old Ted Schmidt. The Ted that hadn't yet learned to stop thinking and feeling. The Ted that still wore his heart on his sleeve and longed for, rather than rejected human connection. The Ted that hadn't yet been ravaged by addiction, and still firmly believed in the power of love.

For the first time in months, Ted's emotions were ignited and now they seemed frighteningly unstoppable. It had been so long since Ted had truly felt anything that the thought of his steely, impenetrable armour crumbling around him was almost too much to bear. Terrified of what might make its way to the surface, Ted bit down hard on his lip and stared directly at the floor, determined to suppress his emotions and keep his protective shield intact. However, he knew if he was to have any hope of succeeding in this effort, he was going to have to at least finish his sentence. So he swallowed hard, hoping it would keep his emotions at bay long enough for him to open his mouth and speak.

"...got myself in a little trouble", he managed to say, his voice breaking against his will as it trailed off into oblivion.

For a moment, Ted was stunned that he'd actually managed to say anything at all. But as he allowed himself to recount the words that had just exited his mouth, he could only marvel at their stupidity. "_Great, just brilliant",_ he thought to himself. _"You look like shit, you probably smell like shit, you're standing in rehab for Christ's sake, and you actually feel the need to tell him that you 'got yourself in a little trouble'. I'm sure he can see that". _Nevertheless, rather than stop there and spare himself what he was sure would only amount to further embarrassment, Ted decided to keep speaking. He felt he had to attempt to make himself sound at least somewhat less pathetic.

But just as Ted opened his mouth, Blake interrupted, gently halting him with words that abruptly silenced his ever-increasing self-hatred. "Hey, it's okay. You don't need to explain."

The words seemed to float from Blake's mouth with an effortless sincerity, as he maintained unblinking eye contact with the fragile man who stood before him. Ted's tightly bound lips soon parted, letting out a large gasp of air he had been holding in while desperately trying to keep his tears at bay; the long overdue exhalation relieving some of the nervous energy and tension that had been steadily building inside him.

Along with this momentary sense of relief, came the sudden realization of the strange irony of this moment; a realization that, for Ted, was simultaneously reassuring and unsettling. As his mind flickered to the past, Ted briefly allowed himself to glance up at Blake, whose stunning eyes shimmered with emotion and a distinct air of recognition.

In an instant, Ted had succumbed to a world filled with his most cherished memories, memories that until that moment had been lost somewhere in the static-filled mind of a hopeless drug addict. But there was no static clouding or distorting these memories, which played in Ted's mind with striking vividness and clarity. He remembered holding Blake's hand as he lay unconscious in a hospital bed with tubes and wires protruding from his skin. He remembered the warmth of Blake's tears as they fell softly upon his shoulder. He remembered bringing Blake home, and then here, to rehab. Finally, Ted remembered Blake fleeing, but he felt no anger, for he now fully understood why. After all, he would have done the same had that voice not called out and stopped him.

Adrift in a sea of his memories, Ted barely noticed that the silence between he and Blake had begun to creep up again. This time though, it was Blake who thoughtfully and instinctively interjected. "Listen, I'm going to group, did you want to come with me?"

The question caught Ted off guard. For the first time since hearing Blake's voice, Ted had fully realized that he was, in fact, still standing in rehab, that he hadn't fled, and that he hadn't used despite every fibre of his body aching for that comforting high. Seconds later, Ted allowed his mind to return to Blake's question. "Group", he thought. "What does that even mean?" Finding some strange humour in the ridiculousness of that term, while at the same time looking for a way to further ease the tension, he replied, "Well you know…I mean…I didn't sign up for the badminton tournament."

Ted never quite understood why Blake had always seemed so charmed by his gloomy, sarcastic sense of humour and awkward stuttering, especially when everyone else, including Ted himself, found it dreadfully tiresome. But to his surprise, Blake just giggled, the same way he always had, bit his bottom lip and said, "You're still funny." Then that smile - that glaringly beautiful, incredibly infectious smile made its first appearance in Ted's life in over two years. It was not that Blake hadn't smiled at all throughout their conversation, but he had been holding back, instead grinning cautiously and only briefly. This, however, was the first time Blake had allowed that lovely, bright smile to breach the surface and remain in place.

In truth Blake's smile had always been a great comfort to Ted. It was his natural high, a high much more powerful than any chemically-induced state ever was or ever could be. Ted simply couldn't help but feel the truest sense of happiness whenever he laid eyes on that magnificently joyous expression. And this was no exception, for as soon as Ted saw Blake's glowing grin, he too smiled – a real, true, genuine smile, for what felt like the first time in months.

For a moment, Ted allowed himself to marvel at the beauty of the man who stood before him. Blake had always been blessed with good looks, but standing there now, he appeared even more beautiful than Ted had remembered. He was a little bit thinner too, but not at all gaunt or frail, like Ted. The blue sweater that lined his trim torso matched his eyes with an uncanny accuracy, causing Ted to wonder whether he had worn this particular sweater with that in mind. Whatever the case, it was certainly a wonderful step up from Ted's oversized hand-me-downs which, years ago, had done little to flatter his lovely frame.

It certainly was Blake - that Ted knew for sure. He would recognize that man's face anywhere. But somehow, Blake was different. He was still as sweet, caring, and exuberant as he'd always been, but he no longer seemed lost or fragile. He appeared to have found his footing. He was steady, confident, and strikingly mature. Ted couldn't quite believe it. He figured Blake had to be nearing the end of his treatment. From what he could see, he definitely looked clean and sober, and quite healthy too. Ted just wished he could say the same for himself.

Blake must have noticed Ted staring, but he just kept smiling as he ushered Ted forward, without the need for words. Ted breathed deeply, feeling relieved to know that he would have someone familiar by his side along this journey. He nodded, as if replying to Blake's silent gesture, and moved timidly towards him. Ted locked eyes with him once more, searching for reassurance and quickly finding it in Blake's tender gaze.

Years ago, Blake's youthful optimism had brought some much needed light to Ted's life. Ted was happy then, truly happy. He danced at Babylon and smiled widely as he strolled down Liberty Avenue with Blake by his side. Suddenly life didn't seem so dull, so dark, so _pointless._ For the first time in his entire life, he beamed with confidence, and was at least somewhat comfortable in his own skin. What's more, he actually looked forward to getting up in the morning if only to see the delightful and endearing face of the man he loved.

When Ted went to visit Blake on his first night in rehab - pizza, magazines, and flowers in hand - only to find that Blake had vanished, he suddenly felt hollow. The light had gone from his life and his body ached, not only with a crushing heartbreak, but with the terrifying thought of where Blake was, what he might be doing, if he could survive this alone. Ted hadn't stopped thinking about him since that night. But over time, it became easier to carry on, to return to his routine, which, in Blake's absence, was Ted's only source of comfort and security. And now, he was here, providing Ted with that same comfort and security during what was surely the lowest and darkest point in his life.

Ted followed Blake out of the room, as the young man looked back and offered a sweet, encouraging smile. Ted was genuinely mystified and overwhelmed as he accompanied Blake down the long turquoise corridor for what was, in fact, the _second_ time in his life. He shook his head in disbelief, this time not because_ he_ was here in rehab, but because _Blake_ was here with him. Remarkably, Ted had become so immersed in the moment that he actually failed to notice he was now moving away from, rather than toward the large red "exit" sign that had been looming in the distance for some time.

He couldn't help but repeatedly glance over at his former lover, who walked closely by his side with a quiet confidence and grace. This was a definite change from the bubbly, yet insecure young man who never failed to cling tightly to his arm any time they travelled on foot. In truth, Ted missed and in many ways longed for that contact, but he moved forward with his hands in his pockets rather than wrapped around the familiar contours of Blake's toned forearm. Before long, Ted felt the need to acknowledge the ironic realization that had dawned on him earlier.

"Last time I saw you was..." he began, unsure of how to finish his sentence in a way that sounded compassionate, as he intended, rather than judgemental or cross.

"…when you brought me here" Blake said, quickly finishing Ted's sentence. "I didn't stay long" he continued, smiling back at Ted, remaining remarkably poised as he delicately acknowledged the way he had betrayed his trust so long ago.

Ted smiled slightly, grateful that Blake had chosen not to deny or repress the painful history that existed between them, a history which now seemed to loom above their heads like an ominous cloud. But Ted wasn't about to allow it to cast a dark shadow over this moment. He was much more interested in the present than in wallowing in past hurts and resentment. In fact, what he had always remembered most about their time together wasn't the sadness, but the love that somehow managed to flourish, even in the midst of the most harrowing circumstances. Now, all Ted wanted was to find out more about the beautiful man who was still strolling calmly beside him.

"And now you're back?" Ted asked, his words dripping with a tentative, yet genuine curiosity.

"You could say that" Blake replied, momentarily filling Ted with a sense of confusion that quickly passed as he began to realize that the road to sobriety was going to be even tougher than he had imagined.

Their footsteps slowed as they came to a halt in front of a doorway to their left; the physical stillness allowing Ted to feel stable enough to voice his internal doubts and concerns. "I guess it isn't easy getting off this", he uttered, in a tone filled with anxiety and dread.

These sorts of expressions of vulnerability still felt strange to Ted, whose eyes shifted from side to side, deliberately looking at anything and anyone, but Blake. A long silence then erupted between the two men – Ted with his eyes darting around the confines of the corridor, and Blake staring up at him with a look of the deepest understanding.

Ted's wandering eyes had yet to regain focus when the sound of Blake's voice suddenly sprang from the stillness. "You'll do it" he said, as that familiar youthful optimism radiated from his body. In an instant, Ted's worry-filled eyes were fixed on Blake, whose optimism and steadiness never faltered. They continued to stare at each other as a second moment of silence swiftly enveloped them, and soon Ted's worried expression faded in the warm glow of Blake's supportive smile. Ted nodded, though he remained unsure of how Blake could be so convinced of his ability to succeed.

They both tilted their heads and bodies in near unison, peaking inside the room they were about to enter. Blake looked back at Ted with that same supportive smile before they each took a few steps forward, pausing briefly in the doorway. Blake paused a little longer though, deliberately allowing Ted to take the lead. Once in front, Ted was unaware of Blake's hand which had reached out towards his back, stopping just short of making contact, before dropping heavily to his side as if defeated in the battle for connection.

An oblivious Ted surveyed the room, this one sharing the same half-hearted homey vibe as the last. Those same rickety wooden chairs were there, only this time their numbers had increased significantly, and they had been arranged in that recognizable circular formation that suggested some sort of "group" was indeed about to take place. There were two large windows in the far left and right corners of the room, each adorned in cheap plastic white blinds, which thankfully had been kept open to allow a small amount of the winter sunlight to seep in. Under each window sat an ancient radiator, which Ted was sure had to be failing as the air had turned noticeably frosty. There was a single large watercolour on the back wall, its greyish beige tones doing little to brighten the space. Finally, there were five plants of varying sizes placed rather haphazardly around the room. If they were real, they certainly didn't appear to be; they looked dreary and lifeless, as did many of the people in the room.

Ted's stomach was in knots as he slowly neared the edge of an empty wooden chair. He nervously turned to Blake before sitting down. "This okay?" he asked, in a voice which quickly revealed the true extent of his anxiety.

"Yeah" Blake replied lightly, as he gazed with a look of confidence and familiarity at the faces that were quickly filling the circle.

Ted was thankful to see an empty seat for Blake next to him, but rather than sit in it, Blake took a seat on its left armrest, causing him to appear visibly taller than everyone else in the room. Blake shifted a bit, as if trying to find the most comfortable position possible, while to his right, Ted nervously rubbed his hands together.

Moments later, Ted's hands were curled and bound together in his lap as he did his best not make direct eye contact with any of the strangers who encircled him. He had no desire to look upon those sunken and weathered faces which he was sure would only mirror his own. He began to retreat inwards, blocking out anything that threatened to overcrowd his senses. He closed his eyes as that familiar urge to flee grew stronger. In his mind, the menacing voices had returned, and were working hard to convince him that he would soon be laughed at and glared at with the deepest suspicion by everyone in the room. In fact, Ted had become so consumed by his own mind that he nearly failed to notice when Blake began speaking. "Let's get started. My name is Blake" he said, "…and I'm your counsellor."

* * *

_Ted flinched as the frigid winter air leapt through a broken window and grazed his cheek; the influx of the outdoors doing little to mask the odour of stale, decaying human life. From the top of a set of wooden steps, he saw a familiar figure lying amidst the darkness. Every bit of his mind told him to turn back, but his heart would pull him forward, the need to see that face again like fuel to his feet._

_So he moved cautiously down the steps, each one creaking under the weight of his sturdy frame. Once at the bottom, he carefully waded through the sea of fifth that blanketed the floor. Broken bottles, soiled clothing, needles, spoons, pipes - remnants of addiction, everywhere. And in the middle of it all, was Blake, curled in a fetal position, lying atop a vomit-stained mattress with his back to the man who had come to save him. _

_Ted recognized the denim jacket that covered his slender upper body. It was the one he had been wearing on the night they first met; perhaps it was the only one he owned. But that was spring, and this was winter and Ted knew it would not be enough to protect him from the cruel harshness of the cold. For a moment, he stood towering over the young man before him, soaking in every detail of the hellish sight that met his eyes. Blake appeared dwarfed; it was as if his soul had fled his body, leaving only the shadow of a person behind. _

_He had with him a small brown knapsack containing everything he owned, which now doubled as a makeshift pillow. His left arm was curled around his torso, joining his denim jacket in the failed quest to keep him warm. His other arm lay outstretched from beneath him, the fingers of his hand curled just shy of a fist, like an infant longing for the warmth of his mother's touch. But Ted knew it would never come, for Blake's family had given up long ago, and none were brave enough to intervene and save him from himself. _

_So he lowered his body to the mattress, and sat next to Blake, leaning over him, forming a protective shield from the frigid winter air. He said nothing. He had no words. Yet something within him longed to touch Blake, if only to ensure that he was still alive. He reached forward and gently placed his left hand amidst the tussled blond strands of Blake's hair. As if by instinct, his thumb began caressing the young man's temple, which was thinly veiled in tiny beads of perspiration._

_Blake was clearly breathing, although Ted wasn't sure he would be conscious enough to hear anything that might manage to escape from his mouth. Within moments though, he saw Blake's eyelashes flutter, his eyelids opening to allow in tiny slivers of light._

"_How did you find me?" he asked, his voice muffled by his lips which barely parted as he spoke._

"_Didn't I tell you? Besides being an accountant, I'm also a part time sleuth" Ted replied, trying his best to rid his voice of the panic that slowly crept into his stomach. _

"_You're funny" Blake said flatly. Normally the blond boy would have been charmed by Ted's dry, sarcastic sense of humour, responding with the widest of smiles, but not today. At this moment, he found neither hilarity in his words, nor the energy he would need to feign amusement. _

"_Yeah, sheer terror peaks my wit," Ted murmured. _

_Of course, Ted was hardly the sleuth he claimed to be. The truth was, when Blake failed to return to his apartment that night, Ted went to Babylon in search of him but soon found Dino instead. Dino: his slimy, red-faced drug dealer; a brash and cocky man not much older than Blake. After a bit of coaxing and the offer of a financial incentive, Ted was able to access the information he so desperately needed – namely the address where he would find this dingy, dilapidated shack of house, somehow still standing._

_Realizing his sarcastic comments had done little to comfort the desperate young man curled beneath him, Ted reached for his hand, which still lay outstretched and waiting to be grasped. He slipped his thumb between the confines of Blake's curled fingers, covering the young man's hand with his own. His head dropped suddenly, as the iciness of Blake's skin seared to his core and brought a crushing weight down upon his shoulders. _

"_Your hand's cold" he uttered, as his brow furrowed, heavy with concern. _

_At that moment, staring at their intertwined hands, the vomit stain in his peripheral vision, with the harshness of winter beginning to eat through his own thick leather jacket - he made a decision. _

"_I want you to come back" he said, his voice filling with a quiet gentleness._

"_I can't" Blake objected, his forehead wrinkling as he tried to force the words out with more power than his weakened state would allow._

"_Don't argue", Ted insisted, without a moment's hesitation._

_But Blake would try once more to push Ted away, with words that entered his heart like daggers._

"_I'll screw everything up", the young man whispered, as any last ounce of hope quickly left him, evaporating into the dry winter air. _

* * *

Ted's eyes slowly opened as his ears were greeted by the very voice that had filled his memory.

"We have some new people with us tonight. I'd like to welcome you and tell you how much I admire - how much we all admire your courage in making this choice", he heard the voice say.

Only this time, as he looked up, the once fragile young man sat confidently at his side, smiling down on him with a quiet gentleness; his blue eyes no longer clouded with tears and no longer red with tiredness; his hands no longer searching for the warmth of someone else's touch; his body no longer contorted and quivering with need. The addict within him had vanished, leaving behind a man with a new found wisdom and a light restored.

Ted's heart began to swell with a renewed sense of hope as continued to stare at the man who now provided a shining example of the incredible difference rehab could make. Suddenly, he felt no desire to flee, for here in the warmth of Blake's presence, he found everything he needed but never imagined he would find - the strength to stay, the hope for a better tomorrow, and the will to survive.


End file.
